


with the lights turned up (it's hard to hide)

by dome_epais



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dome_epais/pseuds/dome_epais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendan has the whole afternoon to himself, so he gets a little fancy.</p><p>(Or: Brendan works himself up really slowly and that's when Alex walks in the door.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	with the lights turned up (it's hard to hide)

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to paperdolls for encouraging the chatfic this is based on.
> 
> Title from Foster the People's Houdini.

Brendan has the whole afternoon to himself, so he gets a little fancy. He stretches out on his bed, the covers rumpled and shoved aside, and dribbles lube all the way up his dick. His fingers slick it everywhere, ignoring his pubes getting sticky and clumping in the mess. 

And god, he goes _slow_.

It’s easy to jerk off in five minutes and let off some steam, but sometimes – yeah, slow. Like this, this loose-handed drag, pausing to fan his fingers over his balls. Really working his wrist. This is the kind of luxury that he can’t get on road trips – and not really during the season, either.

Brendan lets his mind wander. He doesn’t go for any of his ready-made fantasies – locker rooms are so great when you’re into dick – and just drifts. He resists working himself up any faster. Slow, slow, that’s the name of the game. Fuck, he’s getting so hard.

Time doesn’t seem to pass, really. He slips up a couple of times, lets his fingers drift too far past his balls, gets too close to the edge. Has to stop and squeeze at the base of his dick, or pinch his foreskin; put the brakes on a little. In a weird way, this isn’t about getting off, not yet.

Of course, after long enough, getting off is all Brendan can think about. His dick is so red and hot in his palm, and he keeps flexing his hips up, wanting, wanting, fuck. He gets more lube before this overwhelming feeling can tip over into raw and chafed. Heat’s rising everywhere, in his cheeks, stabbing behind his eyes. Ugh, tears are welling up, but he grits his teeth against that.

He’s gonna do it. Finally, he’s getting there, he can let go this time -

That’s when Alex comes in the door. 

Brendan slams his eyes closed and cups both hands over his junk, trying to hide it even a little bit. There’s no way Alex doesn’t know exactly what he’s been doing, but like, maybe he can salvage a little bit of his dignity.

There’s a long moment of silence, just Brendan breathing hard and Alex frozen in the doorway, before Brendan peeks one eye open, mortified.

Alex’s face is always a little hard to read, but right now it’s completely blank in shock. Then he says, “Bren, are you okay?”

Brendan’s voice is raw when he chokes out, “Sorry.” He makes a face at himself – god, he’s dumb. This is dumb.

Alex says, “No, are you – are you crying? Does that, uh, hurt?”

Brendan gasps a little. “No, I’m – shut the door, fuck,” and shit, he was so close, he’s been right on the brink, and he’s still – fuck, so so hard, ready to go off. He can’t just come right in front of Alex.

He tries to work his fingers around and squeeze pretty tight, calm it down a little. Oh god, he’s so – he can barely think. He can still barely _see_ , blinking the wet out of his eyes to look at… well, not Alex’s face, but his shoulder.

Alex says, “Does that hurt?”

Brendan can’t even laugh, he can’t breathe. He’s so wrung out and all of his nerves are on end. He just huffs, “No.”

Instead of leaving and never talking about this again, like he’s supposed to, Alex takes a few steps closer, reaches forward. He presses the back of his hand to Brendan’s hot, hot forehead, like a mom looking for a fever. “Hey, breathe.”

Brendan… Brendan breathes. He loosens his fingers, gives his dick a break. He’s so overloaded, from his dick and his embarrassment and Alex’s hand against his face.

“Calm down,” Alex tells him. His hand turns to cover Brendan’s cheek with his palm. “Sssh. Fuck. You okay?”

“I, I,” Brendan says, trying to nod. Then he whines. His whole body goes tight, bows up into his hands, and he super didn’t mean to do that. Shit, he can _hear_ himself whining still, high and reluctant.

Alex hums, “Go ahead.” His other hand comes down to Brendan’s neck. “Hey, go on. Bren.”

But Brendan can’t – he can’t get this going again.  He moves his hands and tries to get back into the up-down motion of jacking off and – oh, god, Alex is right there. Every touch to his dick is electric, overwhelming, not even pleasure anymore. Alex can _see_.

But Brendan can’t just – he can’t _not_. He needs to come so bad. He just doesn’t know, he doesn’t know how to get there anymore. He can’t find the end point. He says, “Alex,” and he can’t recognize his own voice.

Alex’s thumb runs up from his neck over his jaw. He says, “Hey. Slow down. Slowly. You’re okay. You’re–“ and his breath skips, “uh, you’re close, right? You gotta be close.”

Brendan can’t tell if he’s sobbing yet. He can’t string words together, he can’t – he can’t –

Alex tells him, “Just listen to me. Slow down. And come.”

And somehow it comes together. Brendan’s fingers work the right way, his hips jerk up at the right moment. He slams his eyes closed and feels the tepid stripes of cum landing up his belly and, fuck, some of it might land on his nipple.

Alex lets go of him and Brendan just floats. He can’t bring himself to look around yet. He can barely work on evening out his breathing, on releasing his dick and throwing his arms up toward the headboard.

After Brendan can start counting out his in-and-outs, Alex is back with a wet towel. He wipes across Brendan’s belly and – oh, fuck his life, yeah, his nipple.

Brendan starts getting blood back to his brain, starts mumbling, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m – Alex, I’m sorry. I’m, fuck, shit, I’m fucking sorry, I’m fucking – “

Alex smiles at him. He shushes him again. “Don’t worry about it, Bren. You’re tired. We’ll talk later, alright?”

Brendan is just as tired as Alex says, but he mumbles, “What’s there to talk about?”

And Alex bends down to peck Brendan’s cheek and he says into his ear, “Everything.” Then he vanishes out the door like he was never there.

Brendan takes that promise with him down into sleep.

 


End file.
